Purple Skies and a Greenish Blue Moon
by Diary
Summary: Anne Boleyn, Charles Brandon, their hatred towards one another, and their love for Henry's daughter, Elizabeth, told in snippets. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Tudors.

* * *

"You had no permission to see my daughter."

The Duke of Suffolk takes a breath. "Your Highness, I have never needed permission to see any of the King's children. I visited all of his living children with the Dowager Princess, including Lady Mary, and I visited Henry Fitzroy. Whatever your personal feelings towards me, you have no right, Madam, to deny me access to his majesty's child."

"Your personal feelings towards me give me every right."

Shaking his head, he puts his clenched hands behind his back. "I would die before I'd do anything to hurt any of Henry's children, and-"

"Some say you still sympathise with Lady Mary. Perhaps, you visiting my daughter is a plot to help her overthrow me. After all, she's in great pain from what's been done to her, and you'd never harm one of his children."

"She's always in her room whenever I come. I've always made it clear, your highness, that I wish for the Dowager Princess and Lady Mary to accept Henry's judgement and, as a result, be made more comfortable. I know the King wishes to be reconciled with his firstborn daughter and to be able to show a greater mercy to his brother's widow than he's currently able to due to her stubbornness. Princess Elizabeth is my lord and close friend's daughter, and that is the only reason I go to see her. Not to harm you, and certainly not to harm her."

"I won't allow it," the Queen answers. "I'll have my husband, the King, put a stop to it."

"As you will, Madam. I'm sure my death will help your marriage to him, at least temporarily."

She pauses, unnerved, as she studies him with her dark eyes.

"When I married the King's sister, I asked him to cut off my head if he couldn't forgive me. If he can't trust me to see his infant daughter, then, I have no desire to live and will tell him so. And I'll say to his face that if the only reason he denies me, his brother-in-law, access is that his wife dislikes me, I still wish death, for it's proof you've stolen all his love for me away."

…

Anne stands quietly, peering through the curtain.

"Your grace," Lady Bryan says, curtseying and picking up Elizabeth.

The Duke of Suffolk nods, smiling as Elizabeth reaches out for him.

"The Princess seems to already recognise you."

"Of course, she does," he answers, carefully kissing Elizabeth hand. "Leave us, please, Lady Bryan."

Once the door's closed, he sits down on the floor, patiently allowing Elizabeth to run her hands through his hair. "Your father's wife is pregnant, again, your highness."

Elizabeth crawls out of his arms and, holding onto his leg, pulls herself into a standing position.

He holds his palms out. As she wraps her tiny hands around a finger on each hand, he continues, "I've always been honest with, my lady. I've never liked your mother, but for all our sakes, including yours, I pray she gives Harry his boy. You and your sister should not be divided, or her separated from your father and her mother. A boy will make everything better."

Uninterested in his musings, Elizabeth lets go of his fingers and tries to walk, only to fall. Before he can make a move and Anne can reveal herself, the baby is already crawling over to her toy chest and prying it open. She withdraws a soft ball of cloth and crawls back over, making a jerky motion with her arm, the ball landing on his lap.

Chuckling softly, he picks up the ball, places it in her hand, and adjusts her arm. "Now, try it, sweetheart."

She does, laughing in delight as he catches it.

"Of course, I don't quite understand it," he continues, rolling the ball back to her. "If I didn't have my sons, I'd be disappointed; most men want do want boys. But my daughter, Frances, she'll do more than most men will ever do. Only sixteen, and so clever and fearless; a stubborn child to deal with, but I had more interesting conversations with her than I did with members of Parliament. She's to marry, soon. To a Marquess. Everyone, including my wife, says she can do better. But his name's Henry, like your father, and she insists her soul's bound to his. I just pray she's right, and I'm not letting my own silly thoughts harm her future."

Tired of playing catch, Elizabeth drops the ball and crawls into his lap.

Smiling, he kisses her head. "Thank you for listening, your highness. I need to go soon, but God willing, I shall return next week."

…

_Your Grace, _

_You have taken me from my daughter, and her from me. As it hurts me now, it will hurt her in the future. However, I forgive you all you've done against me. I ask you as the mother of your master and closest friend's child never do further harm to her, and never let Henry convince you of what he will try to convince himself. I was never unfaithful to him, and Elizabeth is his daughter, just as Mary is, and just as Henry Fitzroy was his son. She has my eyes, but her Tudor hair and spirit of a prince make the origin of her seed undeniable. Like your daughter, she is beyond clever and fearless, and she will be a difficult child for those tasked with raising her. Yet, I swear she will do more than I, more than you, and perhaps, more than Henry has done. _

_Queen Anne Boleyn of England, wife of King Henry the Eighth _

…

"No, don't rise," Princess Elizabeth orders, walking over to the bed. "Your trip to see my father has done nothing to help you in your already severely weakened state."

"My lady," he says, kissing her hand.

Kneeling down, she removes a locket from around her neck and opens it, showing it to him. "A week after my mother died, this was delivered to Lady Bryan."

He nods, shivering at the miniature's capturing of Anne Boleyn's piercing eyes. "She gave it the King, once."

"I want you to know, your grace, I've long since struggled with what was done to her. But I've made peace, now. My father could convince a person the sky was purple and the moon a greenish-blue if he decided it so. He could also be convinced of the same thing if the right person said it." Closing the locket and putting it back around her neck, she withdraws another locket from her pockets.

"This was given to my mother, once," she says, showing him the miniature of her younger father. "I have both my father and access to numerous portraits of him." Reaching over, she slips it around his neck. "In gratitude for all you've quietly done for me, I'll make sure it is buried with you. You and my mother did not get along, but I don't believe she would begrudge you this."

Kissing the locket, he answers, hoarsely, "Thank you, Princess, and God keep you."

Inclining her head, she extends brings her hand to his lips. Once he kisses it, she stands. "Goodbye, sir. May you soon find peace and comfort from all your Earthly ailments and all the unseen scars upon your heart."


End file.
